Those Little Phrases
by Bardicsidhe
Summary: Boyfluff. Tristan x Devlin. Like that's a big surprise. And for some reason, in these drunken scenarios, Dev's always the drunk. Go figure.


Title: Those Little Phrases I Hate

Author: Scylla the Healer

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!

Warnings: PG-13 for language. Boyfluff…barely recognizable boyfluff, though. Tristan/Dev. I'm not explaining it.

Note: For some reason, Dev's generally the drunk in a drunk scenario. I don't know why. Neither Tristan nor Dev advocate teenage drinking in any way. They do, however, advocate teenage sex. Hell, they _live _it, people. This was based around one of those little catch phrases that I've come to hate in fiction. "Take me." Like a _guy _would ever say that! So therefore…the guy must be incredibly drunk first. And think it's the most brilliant come-on he's ever heard. *snicker*

Oh, and they don't belong to me, regrettably. Pity. I have such plans for them, too. They're the property of K.T., Viz, 4Kids Entertainment…ah hell, who cares? On with the fiction!

- ~ -

"Take me."

The words panted in the dark, and it was all I could do to just stop myself from going absolutely, electrically numb. Numb like somebody just plugged you into a car battery, heh. _Especially _coming from him. Shock. I really never expected to hear those two words from _him_!

"C'mon, Tristan, what're you afraid of?" The softly slurred words reminded me that this probably wouldn't be 'consensual' in the morning. 

He's…not sober. So I can't. No matter how much I want to.

It'd be kind of rude to just…dump him off my lap, though…

"You can't be serious," I replied, voice flat. 

"Oh, but I _am_," He answered, in that slightly husky, sarcastic, incredibly sexy tone that never fails to turn me on and annoy the hell out of me. Usually within seconds of one another. Yes. I am officially a freak. But he knows that, and he doesn't give a damn, so that's all right with me.

"I doubt that."

"Why?"

I checked the level of vodka in the bottle on the coffee table across the room. It was a third empty. Okay, so some of that was me. But when dad leaves the liquor cabinet unlocked and takes mom out to dinner, you experiment, right? Don't you?

Funny. I always figured Dev to be a bit more experienced about this kind of stuff. Well, serves me right for assuming too much. He _is _kind of skinny, after all. Somebody with that little body mass should be teetery a lot faster. Hey. The health book _says_ so. Not that I'm going to suggest doing a net search to confirm this. I did it for a report. I learned a lot about the human condition. More than I wanted to know, in some cases. And I also learned how to make seventeen different kinds of vodka-based drinks.

Dev poked me.

About damn time, too. Otherwise I'd have missed everything important.

"Hn?"

"I asked, _why_?"

"Why, what?"

He paused. And then…_giggled_. "I forgot." And then he leaned down to kiss me.

Who plugged that damn car battery into me again?

"Oh, I remember," Dev's voice was husky now. Sultry. Like he meant it. "I wanted to know why you didn't think I was serious." He brushed my jaw. "Do I sound serious to you?"

"You're one of those touchy-feely drunks, aren't you?"

"_What_?"

"Dev," I sighed, "That bottle over there," I pointed, "…tells me that you can't possibly be serious. _Nobody _could be serious after that."

He paused, obviously considering this. "I thought drunk sex was supposed to be hysterical."

"Only in the movies," I confirmed, and rose, nudging him – regrettably – out of my lap. "Come on. Let's go to bed. I'll explain to my parents why you're still here tomorrow morning." I chanced a look at the vodka bottle, whistling innocently with its hands behind its back on the coffee table. Still a third of the way empty. And open. Two very large differences that my father was sure to notice the next time he looked at that bottle. "Maybe I should go ahead and sleep with you," I snickered a little ruefully, turning back, "it'd be a hell of a lot easier to explain once dad gets a load of that bottle."

"Drunk gay sex is easier to explain than sober gay sex?" Dev questioned in a moment of coherence as he clung to my elbow, and then my shoulder for support. _Yep_. No doubt about it. He…was drunk. I took pity on him and wrapped my arm around his waist.

"Probably not," I admitted. And tucked him into bed like a little kid.

They found us the next morning. And thank God, I was _not _naked – and I'd been mortally terrified of finding myself in that state, thanks to Dev's weasel-wily mind.

Dev thanked me for not sleeping with him while he was drunk. I ignored the sarcasm in his voice. Chalk it up to natural skill and a wicked hangover.

The next time…we were both sober.

Did it count that we were _giggling _like drunks?

~Owari~


End file.
